Mischief

Things That Don’t Stay In Vegas

May 31st 2013

What happens in Vegas…doesn’t always stay in Vegas.

That line pertaining to the following 3 things:

1. STDS

2. Marriage

Tequila was a bad choice…

3. This blog post:

Rewind.

A few short months ago I received a well-crafted, personalized text from my cousin Elisa inviting me to her Bachelorette rage fest located in Las Vegas, Nevada. She was adamant on pre-gaming her official marital status, requesting a boatload of Kamikaze shots and questionable life choices…and seeing as this was a current description of my life anyway…

Always keepin in classy.

I simply could not say no.

What’s that? You’re getting married? SHOTS.

Before I knew it, I was blacked out with absurd excitement on Hotwire.com, ready to sell my soul to sin city and send Elisa off into the land of endless double dates, chuckling in each others faces at rom coms every goddamn night, and most importantly, exchanging turns on who Dranos the shit out of the shower drain every month.

Ah..I suppose it is my turn…

So there I was.

On a plane. Captain had signaled the fasten seat belt sign. Flight attendants were preparing for landing. And I had so many goddamn ants in my pants I was reading the inflight safety information packet cover to FUCKING cover, so often I started to become delusioned by the ambiguous diagrams:

Now…is this telling me how to save my baby? Or how to get rid of it…?

18 minutes later

We hit the ground and I instantaneously found myself pummeling through fellow passengers on the air craft, simply because I was ready to FUCKING roll.

LET’S DO THIS SHIT.

I sprinted off >>> the plane and to the nearest shuttle that was on standby to drop me off at my designated hotel. There I sat, elated with excitement, phoning my cousins to tell them I was on my way. EAGER to prepare for an evening chock full of classless decisions, overpriced booze and

Wait wait

…what the fuck …WHAT is that…smell…

Suddenly an overpowering stench w a f t e d throughout the shuttle pressing itself against each of the closed windows, doors and walls of the vehicle. In approximately 3 seconds I found myself suffering from mild suffocation and ridiculously uncertain as to where this unexpected relative of mustard gas derived from.

This feels kind of fatal.

Suddenly.

A large woman from the back. Stood uP. Ran her hands through her greasy hair. And said.

“LISTEN TO ME. I’ve had A LOT of tequila. And A LOT of pinto beans today. AND I’M NOT SORRY PEOPLE.”

Hello, Vegas.

Upon arrival to the hotel, I was freshly pre gamed with a scent that can only be described as potent yogurt and vintage wasabi, ready to brave the other smells of the grand city of sin. We were bunking at the Mandarin Oriental. Which, in case you were wondering, I made a pit stop at the comment box later that weekend and slipped in a note that said:

I mean like:

What.

WHAT.

FUCKING IMPERIAL.

I’m over it.

ONWARDS.

Upon our reunion. The clan of us ripped some appropriate shots of patron.

When in Rome.

Took a selfie with the bride to be

Lol jk I had someone else take it.

Peaced the fuck out in a lingering escalade

“What’s that? You’ve been sitting out here for 30 minutes looking for someone to hitch a ride from you illegally because you’re technically not a registered vehicle and don’t have a meter? ROLL OUT”

And stumbled into a night that started out so so good and ended so…so wrong.

But not for me.

Here’s what happened.

Rumors had it the HOTTEST AND HIPPEST club in this 10 foot town was “Hakkasan”

Just a mild rumor, I’m sure.

A world-class nightclub at the MGM grand housing household DJs like

Tiesto

Legit.

Deadmau 5

Legit.

Olive the people

Legit.

And more.

So we did that.

But not before we ran into this chick:

If you’re asking if this is a women with an 8 foot wide “Edward Scissor Hands” Tattoo. The answer is yes…yes it is.

Or this bitch:

This makes absolutely zero sense.

And soon after rolled 13 deep into the grandest nightclub in all the land.

Thanks for coming to my party.

Drinks were

p

o

u

r

e

d

I______________I

:

:

:

________

Selfies were taken

Mostly just enjoying the scandal captured in the background #selfiegoneright

Guy told me to take a picture with him because he was sober and hott. K.

Not a singular clue as to who this is. Never saw him before or after this photo was taken. Fuckin phantom.

Dragons were grinded with

LOVE AN ETHNIC MAN.

Drinks were had:

Cheers, Vegas.

…Then vision was lost:

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR HAND.

I see hair. That must be my friend.

Okay SOMEBODY here has 6 legs and I can’t tell if I’m alarmed or jealous.

But although my vision and coherence were but a fleeting pastime, I do remember a phone call. A phone call…with my cousin…that went like this:

(Disclaimer, in preparation for identification jealousy, I have renamed the following 2 girls with aliases chosen off of www.rulingcatsanddogs.com. Read on.)

“Hey it’s Olive! WHERE ARE YOU I CAN’T FIND YOU ANYWHERE.”

“Dude. I left the club. I’m with Ninja and Nugget and they’re…they’re not doing so hott…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…after we walked into the club. They got obliterated. Which was all awesome and shit until, Nugget got so messed up she had to be escorted out…

And in this intermittent II pause II, I looked over to the bride to be for assistance, perhaps even advice. Only to inform her that one member of her party was being wheeled out in a wheel chair whilst the other was knocked out on the pavement…changing her shoes.

No cigar.

Trick was occupied.

CAN’T TALK. Doing important SHIT.

And after a few more rounds of off-beat dancing

Absolutely a candid dancing shot.

We ventured back to the majestic hotel. Hit the button to floor 23. And watched the

The elevator doors open

Only to reveal Ninja & Nugget…like this:

Ladddiiiiesssssssss

After a multitude of attempts to get this duo to bed.

“Get in the bed.” NO.

We alas bid them adieu on the booze stained floor and proceeded to eat so much chicken from the local Sandwich Joint…

I’m sure this was delicious.

…And in such an aggressive fashion.

That the next morning.

We found the chicken…

In our shoes.

Remember that time this wasn’t a lie?

The next evening, the lot of us reminisced at the dinner table

Look at us. Reminiscing and shit.

About the time we grinded on dragons, rolled out of the hottest clubs…in wheelchairs…and filled our shoes with a copious amounts of cajun chicken…and realizing what a bizarre…bizarre…finale to Elisa’s single life…this really was.

Thank you. Love this. OMG. Rolling around laughing about the chicken in the shoe. Somehow reminds me so much of my crazy friends – why do we never capture it in photos and write about it, tho!? -Bstarbee (www.flockandfeather.wordpress.com)

Hahaha I’m glad you can appreciate that behavior mishap as much as us. No worries, these photos are very diligently taken on cue as I know the more material I can work with, the better! Thanks for reading (:

Haha I know! That was the pure irony of having those photos on my camera. That being said, my vision may have been lacking but my memory somehow always remains ridiculously sharp. But only so I can tell you guys about all the stupid shit that I do. hahaha. Thanks for reading!

Thank goodness you have a good memory or I would be really bitter. I had a boring ole time in Vegas with my bros, but that is because we don’t drink and get wild like you. Vegas looks pretty much the same from Casino to Casino.

Haha we actually didn’t spend too much time in the Casinos. But if you were curious at all, I have plenty of really amazingly awesome and ridiculous times outside of alcohol. I drink much less than you think!

Of course I am interested, but you don’t have to cater to me. I ‘m just one of your thousands of readers. I’ll just wait impatiently for whatever you want to put on your awesome blog. I know you these are just a slice of your life.

I can forgive a lot of things. I forgive you for being a better writer than me and for being younger than me too.

However you look approximately twenty (maybe) in your photos. As do all your friends.

To even out the score I’m sending you some wrinkles in the mail. Ideally you put them next to your eyes but you can wear them on your neck if you’re pretending to be one of the big haired chain smoking slot machines ladies. You can also put them around your mouth so you always look a little unhappy, or perhaps like you are Winston Churchill’s long lost daughter.

Thank you for your gift. I shall use it wisely and probably sooner than I anticipate (with all the stressful activities I put myself through I’m bound to age much more rapidly)By the way, I’m actually 24, and my cousin and all of her friends who were at the bachelorette party are 30! However I don’t blame you for thinking otherwise seeing as we’re dancing with dragons, putting chicken in our shoes etc…etc…

WoWWWW!1 THat was one of a dream night i must say.. Could feel all of the fun u all had… All the Bachelorette parties should be in Vegas.. Great one!!! Simply loved it and would really want to have one such nyt.. 😉